


From Hell to Breakfast

by VerityR



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, a little bit of kissing, but a Lot of talking about Feelings, post 67 pre epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6767257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerityR/pseuds/VerityR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, are you gay or what?” Ronan asked one morning, while making him eggs.<br/>Ronan and Adam have an overdue conversation over breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Hell to Breakfast

“So, are you gay or what?” Ronan asked one morning, while making him eggs.

Adam just blinked for a second, words not quite processing into meaning. It felt like the kind of statement that should worry him, but there was an affectedness in Ronan’s cagey tone that told him otherwise. He wasn’t being attacked. Probably. Like a feral fucking cat, Ronan was just taking a swipe at something he thought might hurt him.

Adam took a sip of his coffee before responding.

“Is this some kind of reverse Catholic guilt thing?” he settled on, tone light, “‘Cuz that seems unfair.”

Ronan just stared back at him, looking more than a little desperate. Stomach sinking, heart racing, Adam was struck with the need to reassure. Don’t break him. 

“C’mon, Ronan, really?” Adam said, like it was obvious, because it should have been. “You didn’t get the answer to that, say, last night? Or any other given night in the past month and a half?”

Ronan flipped an egg threateningly. “Don’t give me that, Parrish. That’s not how this shit works. Read some fucking Foucault.”

“Is that Latin?” Adam asked wryly, trying to get Ronan to crack a smile.

“Whatever.” Ronan said, his clipped tone further punctuated by the sizzle of bacon on pan. “Forget I asked.”

He was sort of itching to respond, but somehow it felt like the sort of moment that needed to hang. Adam could almost hear the wheels in Ronan’s head spinning.

“I just— ” (There it was, Adam thought, trying not to feel smug) “It didn’t seem like you knew, is all. Before… this. I don’t know, maybe my gaydar is way off. I wasn’t trying to say, like, there was anything wrong with being bi or whatever. It’s just been so… I don’t know, out of nowhere.” Ronan sighed. “It’s stupid. I just felt like, maybe you’d be over it just as quickly.” He shook his head. “Which is fine, I guess. If you aren’t actually-”

“Is gaydar really a thing people say? Like, not in hokey sitcoms?”

Ronan snorted, the noise colliding with the clatter of plates as he rooted through the cabinets.

Adam couldn’t have expected any of this, this genuineness. Vulnerability. Proving, he supposed, just how much more of Ronan there was to know.

“Jesus, I don’t even know,” Ronan went on, shaking his head again, “It’s not like I’m the fucking president of the Aglionby Gay-Straight Alliance.”

Adam wrinkled his nose. “We have one of those?”

“Hey, Parrish. Let me introduce you to a thing called, ‘the point’. You’re missing it.”

For a minute neither of them spoke, as Ronan laid out generous helping of bacon and egg and some weird looking sausage that Adam didn’t recognize. The strange domesticity of it all made the fight— if that’s what was happening, Adam honestly wasn’t sure —not feel as risky. Of course, normal people could do conflict resolution without yelling and threatening and hitting. Adam just hadn’t experienced too much of that first-hand.

“Uh, before I give you my goddamn Kinsey scale rating complete with an annotated bibliography,” Adam said, gesturing with his fork, “Can you maybe tell me what that unidentifiable meat product is?”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Black pudding.”

“Okay, I’m almost a hundred percent certain you just made that up.” Adam said, mouth half full of eggs. “Seriously, not to detract from the matter at hand, but that sure don’t look like any pudding I’ve ever had.”

“It’s blood sausage, you WASP-y fuck.”

“A.,” Adam said, “I’m not as much as a WASP as Gansey. B. I still don’t really know what blood sausage is. C. These are really good eggs, by the way. D. I guess I’m bisexual? Haven’t put too much thought into it.”

Ronan raised his eyebrows and was almost choking on his weird pudding sausage shit. He took a long swig of his orange juice before answering. 

“No one’s as much as a WASP as Gansey.”

Adam laughed appreciatively, before stuffing his face with more food, as if to fill the silence left by his awkward, sort-of confession. God, that had been weird to say out loud. But it was true, wasn't it? Blue's lips, Ronan's... everything. He'd wanted both. Was it really that simple? Adam let him self accept that it might actually be. Now it was his turn to overthink things during a weird silence. Ronan didn’t seem to mind, busying himself by dunking bread in the gooey yolk collecting at the bottom of his plate, scarfing the whole thing down, almost biting his fingers in his eagerness. On one hand, Adam had always thought runny eggs were the most disgusting thing in the entire world. But on the other… well, there was something to be said for watching Ronan swallow.

“It just…” Adam rested his head in his hands, sighing, “Never felt too pressing? Like, I figured everyone noticed when someone was attractive.”

Ronan smiled easily. “Yeah, nice theory but,” he looked down, began toying aimlessly with his food, “not actually the case.”

“Seriously though, Ronan. This might be new for me and all,” Adam kicked him fondly under the kitchen table, “But I’m not, like, aimlessly experimenting. I’m not fucking with you. I like you, asshole.”

Ronan ran his foot up Adam’s leg. “But do you like like me?” he said, with a cloying grin.

“Jesus H. Christ, you baby,” Adam said, feeling a blush coming on, “I like like you. I guess maybe I need to get used to the whole ‘liking guys’ thing but,” his grin widened, “I’m a quick study.”

Ronan smiled at him, rolled his eyes some more, didn’t move his foot. “You’re in luck, Parrish,” he said, finally, “Because you’re talking to the veritable master of liking guys. In theory, if not in practice.”

“You know what they say, Lynch,” Adam said, between bites of weird sausage. He wasn’t one to waste food. (And, honestly, it was pretty good.) “Practice makes perfect.”

“Fuck me, all this unbridled self-discovery is giving me bad middle school flashbacks.”

“Oh, gosh,” Adam put a hand to his mouth. “Little baby gay Ronan. And you had long hair back then, right?”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Ronan said, trying to be grim, but there was still smile in his eyes. “Cliff notes: long hair, black nail polish, being called a faggot. And a lot of masturbating, but I think that applies across the board.”

“I got called a faggot, too,” Adam pointed out, “Though I don’t know if that’s universal.”

Ronan shrugged. “That’s just ‘cause you’re pretty.”

“Or bigoted assholes have better gaydar than either of us.”

Ronan barked a laugh. “That, or your obvious dick-sucking lips.”

“I do not have dick-sucking lips!” Adam protested vainly.

“Dunno, Adam,” Ronan said loftily, tipping back in his chair and putting his feet on the table, “In this case, I’m pretty sure actions speak louder than words.”

“What happened to your precious Foucault?” Adam said, “And I hope you fall.”

“I knew you knew what I was talking about, fucker.”

“Hello,” Adam sighed, “We read History of Sexuality in philosophy. You know, that class we’re both in?”

“Huh,” Ronan said, looking genuinely surprised, “Maybe I should’ve showed up.”

Adam buried his face in his hands. “You’re the worst, Lynch. Truly.”

“Yeah, but you like me.” Ronan got up, wrapped his arms around Adam’s neck, rested his head on his shoulder.

“Uh, I think it’s been established that I like like you.” Adam said warmly, into Ronan’s ear.

“I like like you too.”

“Duh.” Adam kissed his cheek, which felt strangely more intimate than anything else they had done. “Your weird pudding stuff wasn't so bad.”

“Also duh.” Ronan kissed his forehead. “Next time, I’m making baked beans and hash browns and fried tomatoes. Otherwise it's not a fry-up.”

Adam’s first thought was that beans were most certainly not a breakfast food. But what he said was, “Why didn't you make ‘em this time?”

Ronan took his empty coffee cup, and like clockwork Adam shot up to help him clear the table.

“Figured I’d ease you into it.” Ronan shrugged with a grin, rolling up his sleeves to wash dishes. “Didn’t wanna scare you off.”

“Fat fucking chance.” Adam said, putting his thumbs through Ronan’s belt loops, sucking a kiss on his neck. “I'm here for the long run.”


End file.
